


Ruby

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond leaves his feast to find a late present.





	Ruby

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ever so slight AU warning for birthdays.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There comes a point, somewhere deep in the early hours of the morning, where Elrond can simply take no more. He detangles himself from the head table, ignoring Thranduil’s many protests— _yes_ , this might be a pathetically short celebration by Woodland standards, but by those of Imladris, the party’s end is long overdue. Most of the servants have already retired, leaving the lords to attend to their own cups, and the last thing he needs is Thranduil overseeing his. When Thranduil tries to follow him towards the doorway, he’s rescued by Erestor—one of the few elves left miraculously sober and alert—who selflessly asks Thranduil to retell the story of Legolas’ seventy-third birthday. With an amused grin, Thranduil abandons Elrond in favour of reciting the horrifying tale for the fifth time that night.

Elrond is left blessedly alone. The halls of his home are every bit as quiet as they should be, save for the lingering laughter of the dining room. All of the minstrels have long since retired. Bright stars, slightly awash in the beginning rays of sun, line the many corridors. Elrond follows them to his chambers. On another night, he might like to ask his staff how the festivities have gone, what tasks are left, and perhaps even see his guests to their respective chambers. But on this particular occasion, he’s left utterly exhausted, and as the occasion is _his_ birthday, he doubts anyone will begrudge him his rest.

By the time he’s finally in his bedchambers, he’s near falling down. He pauses just for that—to breathe, to _slump_ , to express the tiredness that’s plagued him. He steps out from his slippers and sets his circlet aside on a dressing table. His crimson outer robes he sheds as he moves, letting them fall clean to the floor—he’ll aim to tidy in the morning, or at this rate, the afternoon, hopefully before any servants can arrive to do it for him.

When he reaches the bed, he stops, hands caught at the button of his collar. He’d expected to find his bed as empty as it usually is when he hasn’t sent for his lover. But his lover lies across the covers, peacefully resting against the pillows, dark hair pulled back in a jewel-encrusted braid that falls gracefully out behind him.

 _All_ of Lindir is jewel-encrusted. His handsome face, blissfully lost in sleep, is draped in a pearl-laced circlet. His cheeks glisten and glitter like the stars, and his throat displays a large broach encased in golden trim. Red lace and silver chains enclose his neck and drip down his shoulders in a large, elaborate necklace not unlike a chandelier. Similar ropes of glinting gems adorn his hips, crossing his lap like some sort of skirt, crisscrossing his thighs right down to his ankles. His arms are covered in many rich bracelets. He looks as though someone’s dipped him in a dragon’s hoard, and he’s come out part treasure. 

When Elrond regains enough of his breath to move, he drifts around the bed. Perching just on the edge of the mattress, he cups Lindir’s cheek and murmurs, “ _Lindir._ ” As though summoned, Lindir gorgeous eyes flutter half open. His lips part in a stifled yawn, and then he catches Elrond, and his face flushes a pretty pink.

He stirs, slowly pushing up to sit against the headboard. His blush seems to spread all the way from the delicate tips of his ears to the ends of his very toes. It isn’t surprising, given his usual state of conservative dress, and the near nakedness he currently resides in. The jewels obscure his crotch but don’t entirely hide it, and it proves difficult for Elrond to keep his gaze on his lover’s face. It’s an effort not to blush himself. He can’t imagine where Lindir ever got such an outfit, and before now, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to imagine Lindir _wearing_ it. He quietly notes, “I had wondered where you had gotten off to.”

Lindir opens his mouth, but on the first try, nothing comes out. As much as Elrond’s body nags at him to sleep, watching Lindir’s lips holds his attention fast. Lindir takes a moment to manage, “I... was gifted this by King Thranduil... to use for you, of course, my lord.” His sheepish smile is wavering, and quickly falls as he frets, “I am not sure I have it right, to be honest, and he suggested another might wear it better, which I agree, but—”

“But you know me better than anyone,” Elrond finishes, “and you know that I would have no other in my bed.” The tentative smiles returns, blooming with hope and pleasure. It helps temper some of Elrond’s initial reaction—irritation and disgust that Thranduil would treat his partner like some doll to be dressed up and offered for sacrifice. He lifts one of Lindir’s ring-laden hands up to his mouth to kiss before he adds, “Yet he should not have used you so. I am sorry for that; I will speak to him in the morning.”

If possible, Lindir turns a little redder. He shrugs his slender shoulders and glances away, murmuring, “I... thought it sort of pretty.” He picks at one of the golden strands laced across his thigh, pausing before admitting, “I had hoped that you would like it...”

“I like _you_ ,” Elrond corrects, “and you are beautiful in anything: your love is a greater gift to me than any show of gemstones could ever be.” Lindir smiles, even lets out a lilting laugh, and Elrond gives his hand another kiss for it. Elrond doesn’t miss the way Lindir’s gaze averts to the many bangles about his wrists, then the emeralds braided along his chest. The garment—if it can be called that—must be the most expensive thing that Lindir’s ever worn. 

It isn’t that physical value but the appreciation on Lindir’s face that tells Elrond to keep the garment on. With a sigh, he announces, “But I will enjoy this for tonight, if tomorrow you will allow me to gift you more modest jewels befitting your tastes.”

“You are my taste and the only gift I have ever wanted,” Lindir counters easily. He turns to face Elrond properly, and the simple movements flashes light off every bauble. It draws Elrond’s eyes down Lindir’s dazzling body, but Lindir brings his attention back up again by casting both arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward, Lindir whispers, “Happy birthday, my love.”

Elrond can do nothing but smile. Then he closes the distance to bring their mouths together, sleep forgotten in the joy of Lindir’s brilliance.


End file.
